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Being gay in Baton Rouge: 5 perspectives on what it's like

LGBT panel.jpg

In light of recent public debate about an ordinance mulled by the Baton Rouge Metro Council banning discrimination based on sexual orientation, Baton Rouge residents share their experiences about what it's like to be a gay person living in the city. Pictured from left, on top row is Austin Wendt and Courtland Douglas, on bottom row is Joe Traigle, Michael Bibler and Chris Barrett. (Emily Lane, NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune)

Last week on Aug. 13 the Baton Rouge Metro Council failed by a vote of 4-8 to pass an ordinance that would ban discrimination within East Baton Rouge Parish based on sexual orientation.

The proposed "fairness ordinance," as it had been dubbed by supporters, was similar to those passed in New Orleans and Shreveport, as well as in other southern cities like Starkville, Mississippi.

Similar measures had come to the table in City Hall before, but never, some Metro Council members said, had public debate been as engaged on gay rights as it was during a July 23 public hearing when dozens of supporters and opponents stood in line for hours to present passionate pitches for and against providing legal protection for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people.

The time-limited, two-minute testimonies, however, rarely touched on what it's like to live in Baton Rouge for those who the ordinance aimed to protect. The following Baton Rouge residents, all who supported the ordinance even if they hadn't been personally discriminated against, talked with NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune about what it's like being gay in Baton Rouge.

Austin Wendt, 19

Austin Wendt was 17 when he asked his mother about placing candle sconces on either side of a picture in his room.

"Are you gay?" she joked. "My parents are very blunt," he quickly added with a smile.

Even though she wasn't serious, he denied it on the spot, the way he did when classmates asked.

Later that evening, he told her the truth: "'Remember that question you asked...?'"

Austin Wendt, 19, spoke to NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune in August 2014 at Starbucks on Highland Road about what it's like being gay in Baton Rouge. (Emily Lane, NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune)

At the beginning of his junior year, Wendt told a few friends, and as expected, word soon spread to nearly all of his 200 classmates at the Baton Rouge Catholic school he attended. A disconnect grew between him and some of his straight guy friends, which Wendt said "kind of hurt, in a way." But he understood they didn't really know how to deal with it.

Though anticipating to be targeted by name-calling and bullying -- like he'd heard about or seen on TV -- it never happened.

And while worried "to death" about what people might think, six months after coming out, Wendt ran a cautious campaign for student body president, a race he ultimately won.

When Wendt, 19, heads to Nicholls State University this fall, he's hoping his peers will see him as more than just a stereotype.

He's a conservative who "believes in the Constitution," though he interprets it as protecting him from discrimination as an equal to all others rather than providing a reason for religiously opposed people to justify discriminating against him. He's president of Mayor Kip Holden's Youth Advisory Council and an alternate on Capital City's legislative youth advisory council. He's also Catholic and can be seen Sundays volunteering as an alter server at St. Joseph Cathedral.

As someone who used to believe the Catholic teaching against homosexuality, he sympathizes with people who oppose it based on their faith. He eventually realized, though, that "scripture contradicts itself so many times, so many times."

"It's not my whole personality," he said of being gay. "It makes up who I am, but it's not all of me."

Though he would like to be in a relationship, he's not ready yet. But if he was, he would expect to receive sideways glances if he held hands or kissed in public.

If adults of today looked to his generation, Wendt wondered, perhaps Baton Rouge would accept him -- all parts of him, including his homosexuality -- as a part of the community the way he's come to accept and be proud of homosexuality as a part of him.

Example of discrimination he's experienced in Baton Rouge: Wendt said he's not experienced any discrimination, personally. He added, though, that he doesn't think he comes off as obviously gay, and he finds it somewhat inhibiting that as precaution "in the South," he usually tries to lets people get to know him a little before he tells them.

Example of kindness or acceptance he's experienced in Baton Rouge: Wendt said his grandparents' acceptance of news that he was gay caught him off guard, and he's grateful for it. He was also "shocked" the student body at his school elected him president of the student council about six months after he came out as gay.

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Courtland Douglas, 21

When Courtland Douglas came out to his mother, she took it hard, not because of her intolerance, but, rather, out of concern. "I'm afraid of what people might to do to you," Courtland recalled her saying.

Being a black gay man, Douglas said, he knows he might have to compete a little harder to prove himself to people. "You're at the bottom of the chain," he said. "There's an idea of what a man should be, but there is an idea of what a black man should be: You cannot be black and gay at the same time -- it does not happen."

Courtland Douglas, 21, spoke to NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune in August 2014 at Highland Coffees about what it's like to be gay in Baton Rouge. (Emily Lane, NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune)

As if he'd debated the issue before, the 21-year-old Baton Rouge native and LSU psychology major's speech sped up and his focus locked when he talked about his problems with this idea -- an idea he said is projected by society, media, all religious faiths in the black community and by individuals in his life.

"Please tell me what being gay has to do (with) being a man. If I have a family, I go to bat for my family. I have confidence and carry myself as an adult...I can handle my business...Who are you to tell me what a man is?...Acting all macho and banging all these girls. OK, you're masculine, (but) do you protect and provide for a family?

A fellow black man, an acquaintance of his, once told him it was OK for Douglas to gossip, explaining: "'If you run your mouth it's OK because I think of you as a female and expect it.'"

Taken aback, Douglas said he would have preferred the guy to "hate him" or just not think about him at all than have a friend who dismissed his manhood.

Douglas said he wasn't picked on too much in school, but he grappled internally with his sexuality -- even hoping to find a better understanding of it in his psychology classes. It became so difficult for Douglas at a time that ending it all at seemed like an easy escape. Then his grandmother's death during his sophomore year offered a reality check, and he snapped out of it and started letting go of other people's expectations for him.

"I think there's something I'm meant to do," he realized.

He started volunteering Baton Rouge Crisis Intervention Center, answering calls from people struggling with their own suicidal thoughts. In addition to the reward he felt from helping others, Douglas found a sense of community at the crisis center for which he realized he'd been searching.

"For the first time ever...I think I'm enjoying life."

The next semester, he gathered the courage to join a fraternity.

As the first member of the Iota Tau chapter of Phi Beta Sigma to cross as an openly gay man, Courtland said he's inevitably become the token gay friend of many of his fraternity brothers. Rather than take offense to a comment like, "You're alright for a gay person," he embraces the fact that he's given that person a more rounded impression of a gay man than the previously held stereotype.

"It probably sounds more grand than I want it to sound, but (by being myself), I feel I'm doing a service to the gay community."

Example of discrimination he's experienced in Baton Rouge: Douglas hasn't experienced outright discrimination that he's aware of based on his sexual orientation. Before he came out, Douglas said, his friend's friend called him slurs in high school. But he recently ran into that person and was taken aback when the former bully "kept on apologizing" for the bad treatment. He's also had his manhood called into question.

Example of kindness or acceptance he's experienced in Baton Rouge: Douglas said he was surprised by the kindness and acceptance he received from his fraternity brothers, who have both been supportive and included him in their camaraderie.

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Chris Barrett, 33

Sometimes the slurs are inaccurate, Chris Barrett said. She'll be walking down a street holding hands with her girlfriend off campus in Baton Rouge, and some guy will hang out his car and yell, "Fag."

"I get frustrated...'The slur you're really looking for is 'dyke'," she said.

Chris Barrett, 33, spoke to NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune in August 2014 at Garden District Coffee about what it's like being a lesbian in Baton Rouge. (Emily Lane, NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune)

When a neighbor let the air out of her car tires, she said, whoever did it didn't slash the rubber. So she just had to pump them back up and get on her way. Barrett called it a mix of "homophobia and politeness."

Right now, she's between rainbow magnets. Strangers stole four of them off the back of her car, separately. "Each time I try to get a slightly bigger one."

Barrett, 33, bobbed her head as she ticked off a verbal laundry list of other forms of "low-level harassment" she's encountered since moving from Massachusetts to Baton Rouge two years ago. She spoke about the incidents casually but admitted she's never before felt so simultaneously "Titanically visible" and alienated.

When she told her graduate school friends at Harvard University she got a job teaching at LSU, she scoffed at their suggestion that it would be intolerable for a lesbian. "It's 2012," she said she told them, "The nation has moved on."

It's not intolerable, she said. Organizations are attempting to advocate for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and to build a community. Her LSU colleagues and the university, in general, have been supportive and welcoming.

But Barrett said she was wrong, too, that living in Baton Rouge openly as a lesbian would be a non-issue. Barrett this month picked up the keys to her new apartment in Mid City. Before that, landlords she met at 10 different places failed to call her back even though she's a desirable tenant on paper.

The subtle snubs she's gotten at some hostess stations, the awkward tension with which she's greeted by potential landlords and the slanted gazes she's received in public places add to her inhibiting feeling of conspicuousness, which she wasn't used to.

A weird dance occurs in her head when Barrett says she's thinking about holding her girlfriend's hand in public: "Maybe this is not the time for holding hands. Then I think to myself," she said with her hand on her hip, "It's only going to be the time when I go on and do it...But what is she (her girlfriend) thinking?"

While Baton Rouge, outside campus, has disappointed her, Barrett said she still believes that given the option, most people want to do the right thing. To give them the opportunity to eventually learn what that is, her dance often ends with her clasping hands.

"How else are people going to get practice being OK with it?"

It continues to startle Barrett that she has no legal recourse if the poor treatment she's received should translate to outright discrimination. With all of Baton Rouge's "myth and culture and vitality," she's come to appreciate, "I really want to be proud...but this sort of thing makes it hard."

*Barrett spoke with NOLA.com | The-Times-Picayune about her personal views on being LGBT in Baton Rouge, noting those views do not necessarily reflect those of LSU.

Examples of discrimination she's experienced in Baton Rouge: Barrett feels she was discriminated against regarding housing because she's not "traditionally feminine." She met with about 10 landlords before meeting one who would rent her a place. She's also had the air let out of her tires and rainbow magnets have been stolen off the back of her car four times since she moved here two years ago.

Examples of kindness or acceptance she's experienced in Baton Rouge: One time, a student came to Barrett during her office hours and asked if she could pray for her. The student bowed her head right there in the office and started, "'Dear Jesus, let her know that she is valued and appreciated.'" "That never happened in Massachusetts," Barrett said.

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Michael Bibler, 43

Michael Bibler and his husband will be among the Mid City residents walking from neighbor's house to neighbor's house next month over the course of a single meal. They'll have appetizers at someone's house across the street, then maybe scoot down the block for entrees followed by wine and cheese at a third host's house.

The progressive dinner, like the Oden Park Prowl, are among the neighborhood events in which that couple participates that helped Bibler reach the conclusion that Mid City is perhaps the friendliest neighborhood in which they've lived.

Michael Bibler, 43, spoke to NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune in August 2014 at Brew Ha-Ha! on Jefferson Highway about what it's like to be gay in Baton Rouge. (Emily Lane, NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune)

The couple moved from Bibler's husband's home country of England about a year ago when LSU hired Bibler, a 43-year-old South Carolina native, to teach American literature. He, his husband and their three cats, Sammy, Truman and one-eyed Winky, live a fairly normal life like that of any other middle-aged married couple.

Coming from England has naturally been an adjustment. The country has legalized gay marriage and civil unions have been legal there since 2005. Strong anti-discrimination laws, like the ordinance that recently failed in Baton Rouge, have been in place there since the late 1990s and early 2000s. Someone opposing gay rights in England, he said, would be like someone opposing interracial marriage here. They have equal rights there, and the "sky hasn't fallen."

But at least after living in New Orleans, the couple knew what to expect from Louisiana. "There's a conservative political base that we already understood," he said. But the politics don't necessarily mirror Baton Rouge's people.

"The opposition does not reflect my experience in the city at all," he said

Bibler and his husband aren't the hand-holding type, nor are they prone to other public displays of affection. When dining out as an obvious couple "we don't get funny looks...or snubbed at the counter," though he's talked to other gay friends who've had those experiences.

The discrimination he and his husband face is more systematic and derived from politics, not people. And it's frustrating. The seven months before his husband got a job with health benefits, Bibler couldn't claim him as a dependent through his insurance with LSU. That LSU doesn't offer benefits for married same-sex couples doesn't bother him symbolically "about LSU," he said. "It's about state government," noting the governor appoints the LSU Board of Supervisors.

"It's annoying," he said. "What I really resent is the state saying I'm a second-class citizen."

If there are popular gathering places for the gay community, Bibler hasn't found them yet -- probably because of his stay-at-home lifestyle. But he likes that the gay community seems to be integrated in Baton Rouge, making the city feel diverse.

"The world would be so boring if everybody was the same, which is why we have got to protect it."

*Bibler spoke with NOLA.com | The-Times-Picayune about his personal views on being LGBT in Baton Rouge, noting those views do not necessarily reflect those of LSU.

Examples of discrimination he's experienced in Baton Rouge: Bibler said in his first year living in Baton Rouge, he hasn't felt discriminated against or uncomfortable besides his husband not being able to receive coverage from his heath insurance policy.

Examples of kindness or acceptance he's experienced in Baton Rouge: The general friendliness of the people in Baton Rouge has been a pleasant surprise for Bibler, he said.

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Joe Traigle, 70

Joe Traigle empathizes with folks in Baton Rouge who consider him a second-class citizen because he's gay. He was there too, once, in a way.

Growing up in the "epicenter of segregation" in Belle Chasse, Traigle was raised with a value system that taught him black people were bad.

Joe Traigle, 69, spoke to NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune in August 2014 at Magpie on Perkins Road about what it's like to be gay in Baton Rouge. (Emily Lane, NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune)

It took him six months living outside Plaquemines Parish, as a freshman at Northwestern University, to befriend a black person before he realized he, his father and community leaders back home were wrong. Once he figured it out, he adjusted his value system.

Though he disagrees with what he called "cherry-picking" of Bible scripture to justify intolerance of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people, Traigle understands that people have religious objections.

"The problem here is people on the Metro Council don't understand the difference between a Metro Council meeting and a church meeting," Traigle said.

The 70-year-old's 43 years in Baton Rouge can be divided very clearly in two.

During the first two decades he had a wife, held a statewide office as Secretary of Revenue under Gov. Edwin Edwards, chaired the board of American Bank and served as president of the chamber of commerce. Then very quickly, things changed: The family company he was with went under, he and his wife divorced, he sought therapy and "came out on the other side accepting the fact that I was gay."

Some of the intolerance he experienced off the bat came in open expressions of bigotry, but most of it was subtler. "People who used to invite you don't invite you to parties."

One of the more active LGBT advocates in the community, Traigle was scheduled in 2005 to give a speech at an unspecified civil club about why equality for LGBT people is good for economic development. The club canceled it, last minute. Two weeks later, Traigle received an envelope in the mail containing copies of emails with contents that boiled down to, "We don't want 'those kind of people' speaking at our club."

Around the time Traigle came out, he started a consulting business. "There's no doubt about it," he said. "I would be doing a lot more work if I didn't have the stigma of being a gay businessman."

He has a unique perspective of being able to pinpoint his social or outright discrimination because he was once on the other side. In fact, during his years as part of the "inner circle" establishment, he still regrets how he sat silent when his former colleagues and friends displayed casual bigotry.

"Sometimes I laughed at the jokes," he said. "It was a terrible thing for me to do."

That's part of the reason, he suspects, he's committed so much time advocating for equal rights for LGBT people, "to make up for my behavior."

After a pause, he added: "It was a tough struggle for me to wrap my head around the fact that I was a gay man, but that's who I was created (to be), and that's the end of the story."

Traigle thought about leaving town when he realized how different and more difficult life as a gay man would be among his old counterparts, but he figured: "I have just as much a right to be here as (straight people) do, and I'm going to express that right."

Example of discrimination he's experienced in Baton Rouge: A speech Traigle was scheduled to give at "a prominent civic association" was canceled; his boyfriend's clients fired him as their son's physical therapist the night after he told them he was gay.

Example of kindness or acceptance he's experienced in Baton Rouge: A prominent local businessman called him up at home after Traigle gave a speech about LGBT rights to tell him he'd thought about it, written down some notes and come to the conclusion after some thought that he agreed: equal rights should not be a struggle for people based on their sexual orientation.

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Supporters of the anti-discrimination ordinance said after its failure they will continue in coming years to push for the measure or one similar to it. Metro Council member John Delgado, moreover, has said he'll start a petition to send a ballot initiative to the voters that would make it policy of the city-parish government, and its contractors, not to discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity.

Editor's note: This story will be followed by two others representing alternative positions regarding East Baton Rouge Parish's LGBT anti-discrimination ordinance.